


Istan Boy

by Diglossia



Category: Dragonriders of Pern series
Genre: Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diglossia/pseuds/Diglossia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the Hatching of Nemorth's last clutch, Lessa's Impression, a boy attends a Hatching as a Candidate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Istan Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I edited out the kinks. The Istan has a name now (sorry!). Enjoy and review!

Okay, I edited out the kinks. The Istan has a name now (sorry!). Enjoy and review!

* * *

The Istan stood on the sands, the ugly white robe hanging off his thin shoulders. There was too much noise all around him, too much to take in.

The hum of the dragons coursed through his slight body, causing him to shake with the intensity.

Why am I here? Prabhakar wondered.

Just that morning monstrous dragons had swooped down on Ista Hold, demanding to see all the boys the Hold could provide. The riders, tall, fierce men, yelled back and forth as the boys scrambled out from every section of the vast hold. They said they were here on Search, some mysterious mission or an archaic word no one remembered anymore.

But they were dragonriders and the Hold had to do what they said. Everyone knew that dragons could eat a man whole or set a cottage on fire with one foul breath. The very glint of a dragon's eye could make a person forget his own name. They were a menace to all of Pern.

The dragonriders had quickly sorted through the mass of children, choosing boys at random. There seemed to be no logic to the riders' choices: some were almost men, others hardly ten Turns. In the end, seventeen boys were ripped from their homes and taken off the very island to this landlocked mainland mountain.

Benden Weyr was cold, the air dry and thin instead of humid and warm, like Ista Island. There were few trees and little vegetation, and the nearest water was an icy mountain-fed lake. The very land sloped underneath at impossible angles so that travel was only possible through the pocketed mountain.

Yet, here, in this bottom cavern, there was sand. What use was sand in a mountain?

The painfully loud humming grew by the minute, swelling louder and louder. The riders, crowded onto stands across the sandy cavern, seemed not to notice. Their eyes gleamed cruelly at the scared group of boys, waiting for something that no one would explain.

The great yellow dragon alone was silent. It sat exhaustedly on the sands, ragged breathing blowing hotly onto the women standing near it. He pitied it for it seemed as miserable as he was.

It blinked every now and again, oblivious to the humming. Its great head settled against the cavern floor, sand rising up in a light cloud and falling again to the ground.

The humming increased.

Suddenly, the golden boulder next to the dragon shook violently. The boy only noticed this because the women near it shrieked, breaking his rapture of the yellow dragon.

A violent crack sounded through the cavern. The mottled boulders in front of the boys were shaking as well, small pieces fracturing off and flying into the sands. Prabhakar watched fearfully as the boulders broke apart more and more. Were they boulders at all?

Apparently not. Within seconds, the boulders cracked deeply, falling away from something contained within. He wanted to look away, scared that some demon creature was about to emerge, something far worse than any dragon, but found that he could not. Whatever fate awaited him, whether he was to be some satanic offering to a being waiting to devour him along with the other boys or whether he was to die in some sort of hellish gladiator game for the amusement of the dragonriders, he would face it bravely, like a true Istan.

Shards flew through the air, shattering onto the sands. He ducked, covering his head. When he looked up, his face was stolen from him in a wordless gape.

Dragonets as big as himself were clambering out of the boulders- eggs?- and spilling onto the cavern floor. Their skins, shinier than tunnelsnakes, rippled with muscle. Claws as long as his hand extended from their paws, yet they moved with incredible speed, racing towards the boys. The dragonets, for all their size or because of it, were awkward, scrambling creatures.

Prabhakar watched as one grabbed a boy and threw it into the sands, treading across his face. One claw caught on the unfortunate boy's cheek, cutting a deep ridge that began to bleed profusely. It continued on, unaware.

Now cognizant of the danger of the dragonets, several of the boys turned and ran. He stayed where he was, remembering the spit hounds that would chase anything that ran away, following the poor fleer until, exhausted; it would collapse and be eaten.

Indeed, it seemed that the dragonets had little real intention of hurting the boys. Some were even allowing themselves to be touched by smiling boys who stroked them on the same ridge above the eye.

Something was happening that he did not understand. People other than dragonriders were touching dragons, stroking them even, without being harmed. No bursts of poisonous flame met the boys; no open maws greeted them with death.

He frowned, caught up in the confusion of everything he had ever learned about dragonriders. Prabhakar remembered his first impression of the riders, tall and fierce, yes, but also well-fed, well-spoken, and strong. People listened to them when they spoke and the Holds tithed them every Turn. Their clothes were of a better quality than any holder's and they were clean in a way few back home could manage. The meal the riders had provided had meat and fresh vegetables not preserved greens or barely edible week-old stews, the usual fare throughout Ista.

His eyes widened as a foreign knowledge came to him: this gathering was not meant to target the boys but to provide the dragonets with partners, the next generation of dragonriders. The dragonets were as much victims of the poorly-orchestrated situation as the boys.

This realization, though, left him with little time if he was to become a dragonrider. The small clutch of eggs- what he had mistaken for boulders before- was almost completely destroyed. Most of the dragonets were already paired with boys and were walking out of the sand-filled cavern.

But there were a few left.

Prabhakar moved towards a particularly large dragonet of a russet shade but it shoved past him, meeting up with an older boy further on.

Without time to even be disappointed, he moved on, heading towards the others. Another, of a jade hue, went past him as he made towards it.

I am not going back to Ista! He told himself and continued on. There were two dragonets left unpaired, not including the one hidden inside the uncracked egg that the women stood round.

He decided to follow after the smaller of the two dragonets, as the larger one was headed in the opposite direction at a faster pace than he could manage.

His intended dragonet mewled piteously, its claws striking out at the boys milling fearfully around it. Were they not intelligent enough to get out of its way? Prabhakar wondered, walking as quickly as possible towards it, not wanting to break into a run and frighten the creature.

It turned as he came towards it, met his gaze for an instant, and then looked back at the boys crowding it. Its cobalt head moved back and forth on its slender azure neck, its eyes whirling orange-red. Somehow, he knew it to be angry and fearful, unhappy at the actions of the boys around it. It wanted one to comfort it and soothe its anxiousness but for some reason _none_ would.

Prabhakar grabbed the boy nearest him and pushed him aside. The boy gladly gave in, staggering back. The dragonet cried out again, flapping its wet cobalt wings and spreading them wide. The boys collectively sprang back, freeing him to get closer to the dragonet. He was a hand span away from touching it when it fixed its great whirling eye on him.

You! A voice at once alien and familiar shouted. Where were you?! I looked and looked but you were not there! Why did you not come when I called? The voice continued insistently.

The dragonet came towards him, butting his shoulder lightly. He then knew the voice to be that of the dragonet. He also knew it to be hungry, his own stomach clenching painfully in accord.

"I am here now," he told it, his hand coming automatically to rest atop its eye, scratching the ridge that lay there. A smile of purest joy broke upon his face as he touched it.

I am not _it_, the dragonet told him plainly, I am Genath and you are mine.

The boy and dragonet then walked out of the sandy cavern to begin their new life together, forever one.


End file.
